Memoir of a Scavenger
by Mr. New Vegas
Summary: A post-apocalyptic world is full of stories, some powerfully inspiring, some little more than a whisper on the wind. Follow the unspoken story of a scavenger whose view on life is changed by the unlikeliest of people.


**Hey there, everyone, it's me...Mr. New Vegas. I thought I'd help you people pass the time among this nasty world by gathering a few good stories that I really enjoyed. The story below is a touching one, one that'll be developing in the months to come, and I must say, it's a real doozy.**

**The story details the life of a gentleman in the Capital Wasteland who lives by one rule: Look out for himself. It's a real surprise to him, then, when an act of mercy challenges and ultimately makes him break this rule. Follow the tale of Jonathan Shaw as he travels throughout the Capital Wasteland, learning from the unlikeliest of people what it truly means to live.**

**Enjoy the story folks, and remember, the artist is New to . Let's give him a good welcome. **

I had always considered myself a coward at heart with no real aptitude for courage. After all, I had little in the way of physique to influence my bravery. Standing at five foot seven, pencil thin and the red hair you would see on a schoolgirl in the vids of the Vaults, I wasn't exactly intimidating. I highly doubt I could _scare_ a schoolgirl, so I wasn't about to lend myself to some highly dramatic firefight one would always see out on the Wastes. No, I skulked about in the shadows, always watching from afar, until it was obvious one side was losing. At that point, I would either stumble upon the scene as if I had just arrived, helping to eliminate one side while warming up to the other (this was usually to earn their favor; makes it easier to steal from them later), or I would avoid them altogether if I thought they weren't of the friendly sort. I can always tell those guys from others.

I guess that's why I'm a great scavenger. I know when to show up or to stay invisible. I can go just about anywhere and can find almost anything of value out on the wastes. Many of the ruins and desolate buildings I picked clean myself. Of course, there are other scavengers about, but I am a pretty good shot. Pretty ironic, I guess. A cowardly marksman.

I guess that means I should correct my previous paragraph. I am a coward _only_ when it doesn't concern me. Now you can guess that fighting for my life is definitely concerning me, so I will fight to defend myself when the need arises. But the only other situation that would fit that category would be fighting over a find. Most other scavengers back down on the lesser goods (although I don't; everything helps) but when you really hit the jackpot (usually weapons, large containers of food, pure water, etc.), you guard it with your life. That's what life is in the Wastes out here. A fight for your life.

My life has always been dismal. Used to I would wake up from Moriarty's Saloon and go out for a week-long trip to find my usual haul, and then write about it to keep away the insanity of the Wastes. Moira Brown really relied on me bringing back some good stuff (as well as keeping me on track with my journal entries; I think she really likes the idea of exploring the Wastes, but I've yet to convince her to go out on her own, even to this day), and I have to say I did run into the odd weaponry around the Wastes, so my life, while boring and mundane, was relatively easy. I was, in all retrospect, good at what I do. (I suppose that's why that weird librarian is making me collect my memoirs. I assumed she wanted to look at my famous exploits, but alas, she simply wants to put together a nonfiction book about an "Exploration of the Capital Wasteland").

But I'll never forget the day I ran into Sarah O'Neal. I believe that was the day my life, for better or worse (better, I'd like to say), changed. Sarah was a Vaultie, a virgin to the Wastes! Said she was from Vault 64 and that the door, which had stayed closed for as long as she could remember, mysteriously opened. I'd heard of that before, some sort of experiment them Vault Tech. spooks were conducting, so it wasn't really my problem, as I'd learned how to deal with their lot before. But after finding her broken body inside a school at the mercy of raiders...I guess that's where I started to change. I couldn't leave her to die there, even though saving her broke the creed I held for myself.

She recovered quickly, walking around only three hours after finding her. That surprised me, for I doubted she would've been walking at all for the rest of her life. But she wasn't merely content staying in Megaton. You'd think after her run-in with the raiders, she would be happy to never walk out into the Capital Wasteland, but instead she wanted to learn how to survive out there. So I took her under my wing, believe it or not. Showed her the ways of the scavenger, taught her how to shoot, how to survive…she learned fast. Like there was a purpose to it, like merely surviving wasn't enough. I think it was then that I started to feel something different. Like maybe my life had been a lie for so long. Like in my 34 years, I had gotten it wrong, and this 14 year old girl was teaching me something that I should've learned long ago.

Even now, as we both run the Megaton Saloon (thank God we ran that creepy bastard out), I can still see some of that vigor in her eyes, as if she'd never forget our life on the Wastes. She gives me smiles sometimes and asks if I remember Washington D.C, or Canterbury Commons, or the caravan trains. Of course I do. Some of the most memorable moments in my life.

In some ways she reminds me of my wife before the Super Mutant attack. No other woman had been able to make me smile at the littlest of things. But she always did, as if her agenda of the day had "Make John smile" written on it. And her personality was so full of love and life. It was contagious, I tell you. Just being around her, you could feel the good in people. In a way, it scared me. I had always been able to put a wall around me, so to speak, make myself immune to people's ways. It helped preserve myself around the scum and villainy of the Wastes. Not Sarah, though. She broke it down, like she knew me all along, who I was, how I acted… I was an open book to her. She's probably the only person who truly knows me for who I am. And in an unexpected way, I kind of…like it. I like the fact that, if I die tomorrow, I finally shared some of myself with another person I grew to care about.

I'd like to think my daughter would be like her. In some ways, I've grown to care about her as such. She's taken a liking now to a boy in town, and I couldn't help feeling concerned for her being (so much so that I had a 'heartfelt' conversation with the man in question). I guess I have to let her go though. She's certainly taught _me_ that she can survive out there just fine. It was really surprising, too, how we first met. Even with my ailing memory, I can still recall it perfectly (even if it was a mere 7 years ago). It was the year 2275, and I was just getting settled into Megaton, so the surrounding area was still relatively ripe for picking, as the inhabitants I was told stayed close to civilization. It was during one of my week-long salvage trips, and it was one of the most unsuccessful ones yet. I had found very little stuff of value and was becoming desperate for a good find. Little did I know I would find a treasure that would be irreplaceable for years to follow.

This is my memoir. The Memoir of a Scavenger.


End file.
